The Waste Land - LimpidSoft · I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD April is the cruellest month, breeding...

The Waste Land

by T.S. Eliot

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Contents

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD 1

II. A GAME OF CHESS 7

III. THE FIRE SERMON 15

IV. DEATH BY WATER 26

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID 28

i

The present document was derived fromtext provided by Project Gutenberg (docu-ment 1321) which was made available free ofcharge. This document is also free of charge.

ii

"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipseoculis meis

vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueridicerent:

Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa:apothanein thelo."

iii

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

April is the cruellest month, breedingLilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.Winter kept us warm, coveringEarth in forgetful snow, feedingA little life with dried tubers.Summer surprised us, coming over the

StarnbergerseeWith a shower of rain; we stopped in the

colonnade,And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

1


Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen,echt deutsch.

And when we were children, staying at thearchduke’s,

My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,And I was frightened. He said, Marie,Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.In the mountains, there you feel free.I read, much of the night, and go south in the

winter.

What are the roots that clutch, whatbranches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,1You cannot say, or guess, for you know onlyA heap of broken images, where the sun

beats,2And the dead tree gives no shelter, the

cricket no relief,And the dry stone no sound of water. OnlyThere is shadow under this red rock,(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

1Cf. Ezekiel 2:1.2Cf. Ecclesiastes 12:5

2


And I will show you something differentfrom either

Your shadow at morning striding behindyou

Or your shadow at evening rising to meetyou;

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.Frisch weht der Wind3

Der Heimat zuMein Irisch Kind,Wo weilest du?

"You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;"They called me the hyacinth girl."–Yet when we came back, late, from the

Hyacinth garden,Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could notSpeak, and my eyes failed, I was neitherLiving nor dead, and I knew nothing,Looking into the heart of light, the silence.Od’ und leer das Meer.4

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,

3V. =Tristan und Isolde, i, verses 5-8.4Id. iii, verse 24.

3


Had a bad cold, neverthelessIs known to be the wisest woman in Europe,With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,5Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,The lady of situations.Here is the man with three staves, and here

the Wheel,And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this

card,Which is blank, is something he carries on

his back,Which I am forbidden to see. I do not findThe Hanged Man. Fear death by water.

5I am not familiar with the exact constitution of the Tarot packof cards, from which I have obviously departed to suit my own con-venience. The Hanged Man, a member of the traditional pack, fitsmy purpose in two ways: because he is associated in my mind withthe Hanged God of Frazer, and because I associate him with thehooded figure in the passage of the disciples to Emmaus in PartV. The Phoenician Sailor and the Merchant appear later; also the"crowds of people," and Death by Water is executed in Part IV. TheMan with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) Iassociate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself.

4


I see crowds of people, walking round in aring.6

Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City,7Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so

many,I had not thought death had undone so

many.8

Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,9

6Cf. the Dirge in Webster’s White Devil.7Cf. Baudelaire:

"Fourmillante cite;, cite; pleine de reves,Ou le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant."8Cf. Inferno, iii. 55-7.

"si lunga trattadi gente, ch’io non avrei mai creduto

che morte tanta n’avesse disfatta."9Cf. Inferno, iv. 25-7:

"Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare,"non avea pianto, ma’ che di sospiri,"che l’aura eterna facevan tremare."

5


And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.Flowed up the hill and down King William

Street,To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the

hoursWith a dead sound on the final stroke of

nine.10There I saw one I knew, and stopped him,

crying "Stetson!"You who were with me in the ships at

Mylae!"That corpse you planted last year in your

garden,"Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this

year?"Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?"Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to

men,"Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!"You! hypocrite lecteur!– mon semblable,–

mon frere!"11

10A phenomenon which I have often noticed.11V. Baudelaire, Preface to Fleurs du Mal.

6

II. A GAME OF CHESS

The Chair she sat in, like a burnishedthrone,12

Glowed on the marble, where the glassHeld up by standards wrought with fruited

vinesFrom which a golden Cupidon peeped out(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)Doubled the flames of sevenbranched

candelabraReflecting light upon the table asThe glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,

12Cf. Antony and Cleopatra, II. ii., l. 190.

7

II. A GAME OF CHESS

From satin cases poured in rich profusion;In vials of ivory and coloured glassUnstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic

perfumes,Unguent, powdered, or liquid– troubled,

confusedAnd drowned the sense in odours; stirred by

the airThat freshened from the window, these

ascendedIn fattening the prolonged candle-flames,Flung their smoke into the laquearia,13Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.Huge sea-wood fed with copperBurned green and orange, framed by the

coloured stone,In which sad light a carved dolphin swam.Above the antique mantel was displayedAs though a window gave upon the sylvan

scene14

13Laquearia. V. Aeneid, I. 726:dependent lychni laquearibus aureis incensi, et noctem flammis fu-nalia vincunt.

14Sylvan scene. V. Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 140

8

II. A GAME OF CHESS

The change of Philomel, by the barbarousking15

So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale16Filled all the desert with inviolable voiceAnd still she cried, and still the world

pursues,"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.And other withered stumps of timeWere told upon the walls; staring formsLeaned out, leaning, hushing the room

enclosed.Footsteps shuffled on the stair.Under the firelight, under the brush, her hairSpread out in fiery pointsGlowed into words, then would be savagely

still.

"My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Staywith me.17

"Speak to me. Why do you never speak.Speak.

15V. Ovid, Metamorphoses, vi, Philomela.16Cf. Part III, l. 204.17Cf. the game of chess in Middleton’s Women beware Women.

9

II. A GAME OF CHESS

"What are you thinking of? What thinking?What?

"I never know what you are thinking.Think."

I think we are in rats’ alley18

Where the dead men lost their bones.

"What is that noise?"The wind under the door.19

"What is that noise now? What is the winddoing?"

Nothing again nothing."Do

"You know nothing? Do you see nothing?Do you remember

"Nothing?"

I rememberThose are pearls that were his eyes."Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in

your head?"20

18Cf. Part III, l. 195.19Cf. Webster: "Is the wind in that door still?"20Cf. Part I, l. 37, 48.

10

II. A GAME OF CHESS

ButO O O O that Shakespeherian Rag–It’s so elegantSo intelligent"What shall I do now? What shall I do?"I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street"With my hair down, so. What shall we do

to-morrow?"What shall we ever do?"

The hot water at ten.And if it rains, a closed car at four.And we shall play a game of chess,Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock

upon the door.

When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said–I didn’t mince my words, I said to her

myself,

Hurry up please. It’s time.

Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself abit smart.

He’ll want to know what you done with thatmoney he gave you

To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was

11

II. A GAME OF CHESS

there.You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice

set,21He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.And no more can’t I, I said, and think of

poor Albert,He’s been in the army four years, he wants a

good time,And if you don’t give it him, there’s others

will, I said.Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I

said.Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and

give me a straight look.Hurry up please. It’s time.If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I

said.Others can pick and choose if you can’t.But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of

telling.You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so

antique.21V. Spenser, Prothalamion.

12

II. A GAME OF CHESS

(And her only thirty-one.)I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.(She’s had five already, and nearly died of

young George.)The chemist said it would be alright22, but

I’ve never been the same.You are a proper fool, I said.Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it

is, I said,What you get married for if you don’t want

children?Hurry up please. It’s time.Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they

had a hot gammon,And they asked me in to dinner, to get the

beauty of it hot–Hurry up please. It’s time.Hurry up please. It’s time.Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May.

Goonight.

22This spelling occurs also in the Hogarth Press edition– Editor.

13

II. A GAME OF CHESS

Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies,

good night, good night.

14

III. THE FIRE SERMON

The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers ofleaf

Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The windCrosses the brown land, unheard. The

nymphs are departed.Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich

papers,Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes,

cigarette endsOr other testimony of summer nights. The

nymphs are departed.And their friends, the loitering heirs of city

15


directors;Departed, have left no addresses.By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept

. . .Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not

loud or long.But at my back in a cold blast I hearThe rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread

from ear to ear.A rat crept softly through the vegetationDragging its slimy belly on the bankWhile I was fishing in the dull canalOn a winter evening round behind the

gashouseMusing upon the king my brother’s wreckAnd on the king my father’s death before

him.23White bodies naked on the low damp

groundAnd bones cast in a little low dry garret,Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year.

23Cf. The Tempest, I. ii.

16


But at my back from time to time I hear24The sound of horns and motors, which shall

bring25

Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter26And on her daughterThey wash their feet in soda waterEt O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la

coupole!27

Twit twit twitJug jug jug jug jug jugSo rudely forc’d.Tereu

Unreal CityUnder the brown fog of a winter noon

24Cf. Marvell, To His Coy Mistress.25Cf. Day, Parliament of Bees:"When of the sudden, listening, you shall hear,"A noise of horns and hunting, which shall bring"Actaeon to Diana in the spring, "Where all shall see her naked

skin..."26I do not know the origin of the ballad from which these lines

are taken: it was reported to me from Sydney, Australia.27V. Verlaine, Parsifal.

17


Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchantUnshaven, with a pocket full of currants28C.i.f. London: documents at sight,Asked me in demotic FrenchTo luncheon at the Cannon Street HotelFollowed by a weekend at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and backTurn upward from the desk, when the

human engine waitsLike a taxi throbbing waiting,I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between

two lives,29

28The currants were quoted at a price "carriage and insurancefree to London"; and the Bill of Lading etc. were to be handed to thebuyer upon payment of the sight draft."Carriage and insurance free": "cost, insurance and freight"-Editor.

29Tiresias, although a mere spectator and not indeed a "charac-ter," is yet the most important personage in the poem, uniting all therest. Just as the one-eyed merchant, seller of currants, melts into thePhoenician Sailor, and the latter is not wholly distinct from Ferdi-nand Prince of Naples, so all the women are one woman, and thetwo sexes meet in Tiresias. What Tiresias sees, in fact, is the sub-stance of the poem. The whole passage from Ovid is of great an-thropological interest:

’. . . Cum Iunone iocos et maior vestra profecto est

18


Old man with wrinkled female breasts, cansee

At the violet hour, the evening hour thatstrives

Homeward, and brings the sailor home fromsea,30

The typist home at teatime, clears her

Quam, quae contingit maribus,’ dixisse, ’voluptas.’Illa negat; placuit quae sit sententia doctiQuaerere Tiresiae: venus huic erat utraque nota.Nam duo magnorum viridi coeuntia silvaCorpora serpentum baculi violaverat ictuDeque viro factus, mirabile, femina septemEgerat autumnos; octavo rursus eosdemVidit et ’est vestrae si tanta potentia plagae,’Dixit ’ut auctoris sortem in contraria mutet,Nunc quoque vos feriam!’ percussis anguibus isdemForma prior rediit genetivaque venit imago.Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite iocosaDicta Iovis firmat; gravius Saturnia iustoNec pro materia fertur doluisse suiqueIudicis aeterna damnavit lumina nocte,At pater omnipotens (neque enim licet inrita cuiquamFacta dei fecisse deo) pro lumine ademptoScire futura dedit poenamque levavit honore.30This may not appear as exact as Sappho’s lines, but I had in

mind the "longshore" or "dory" fisherman, who returns at nightfall.

19


breakfast, lightsHer stove, and lays out food in tins.Out of the window perilously spreadHer drying combinations touched by the

sun’s last rays,On the divan are piled (at night her bed)Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugsPerceived the scene, and foretold the rest–I too awaited the expected guest.He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold

stare,One of the low on whom assurance sitsAs a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.The time is now propitious, as he guesses,The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,Endeavours to engage her in caressesWhich still are unreproved, if undesired.Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;Exploring hands encounter no defence;His vanity requires no response,And makes a welcome of indifference.(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all

20


Enacted on this same divan or bed;I who have sat by Thebes below the wallAnd walked among the lowest of the dead.)Bestows one final patronising kiss,And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit .

. .She turns and looks a moment in the glass,Hardly aware of her departed lover;Her brain allows one half-formed thought to

pass:"Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s

over."When lovely woman stoops to folly and31

Paces about her room again, alone,She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,And puts a record on the gramophone.

"This music crept by me upon the waters"32And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria

Street.O City city, I can sometimes hearBeside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,

31V. Goldsmith, the song in The Vicar of Wakefield.32V. The Tempest, as above.

21


The pleasant whining of a mandolineAnd a clatter and a chatter from withinWhere fishmen lounge at noon: where the

wallsOf Magnus Martyr hold33

Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white andgold.

The river sweats34Oil and tarThe barges driftWith the turning tideRed sailsWideTo leeward, swing on the heavy spar.The barges washDrifting logsDown Greenwich reachPast the Isle of Dogs.

33The interior of St. Magnus Martyr is to my mind one of thefinest among Wren’s interiors. See The Proposed Demolition ofNineteen City Churches (P. S. King & Son, Ltd.).

34The Song of the (three) Thames-daughters begins here. Fromline 292 to 306 inclusive they speak in turn. V. Gutterdämmerung,III. i: the Rhine-daughters.

22


Weialala leiaWallala leialala

Elizabeth and Leicester35Beating oarsThe stern was formedA gilded shellRed and goldThe brisk swellRippled both shoresSouthwest windCarried down streamThe peal of bellsWhite towers

Weialala leiaWallala leialala

35V. Froude, Elizabeth, Vol. I, ch. iv, letter of De Quadra toPhilip of Spain:

"In the afternoon we were in a barge, watching the games on theriver.

(The queen) was alone with Lord Robert and myself on the poop,when they began to talk nonsense, and went so far that Lord

Robertat last said, as I was on the spot there was no reason why theyshould not be married if the queen pleased."

23


"Trams and dusty trees.Highbury bore me. Richmond and KewUndid me. By Richmond I raised my knees36Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."

"My feet are at Moorgate, and my heartUnder my feet. After the eventHe wept. He promised ’a new start’.I made no comment. What should I resent?""On Margate Sands.I can connectNothing with nothing.The broken fingernails of dirty hands.My people humble people who expectNothing."

la la

To Carthage then I came37

Burning burning burning burning38

36Cf. Purgatorio, v. 133:"Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia;Siena mi fe’, disfecemi Maremma."37V. St. Augustine’s Confessions: "to Carthage then I came,

where a cauldron of unholy loves sang all about mine ears."38The complete text of the Buddha’s Fire Sermon (which corre-

24


O Lord Thou pluckest me out39O Lord Thou pluckestBurning

sponds in importance to the Sermon on the Mount) from whichthese words are taken, will be found translated in the late HenryClarke Warren’s Buddhism in Translation (Harvard Oriental Series).Mr. Warren was one of the great pioneers of Buddhist studies in theOccident.

39From St. Augustine’s Confessions again. The collocation ofthese two representatives of eastern and western asceticism, as theculmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident.

25

IV. DEATH BY WATER

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea

swellAnd the profit and loss.

A current under seaPicked his bones in whispers. As he rose and

fellHe passed the stages of his age and youthEntering the whirlpool.

Gentile or JewO you who turn the wheel and look to

windward,Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome

26

IV. DEATH BY WATER

and tall as you.

27

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID40

After the torchlight red on sweaty facesAfter the frosty silence in the gardensAfter the agony in stony placesThe shouting and the cryingPrison and palace and reverberationOf thunder of spring over distant mountainsHe who was living is now deadWe who were living are now dyingWith a little patience

40In the first part of Part V three themes are employed: the jour-ney to Emmaus, the approach to the Chapel Perilous (see Miss We-ston’s book) and the present decay of eastern Europe.

28

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

Here is no water but only rockRock and no water and the sandy roadThe road winding above among the

mountainsWhich are mountains of rock without waterIf there were water we should stop and drinkAmongst the rock one cannot stop or thinkSweat is dry and feet are in the sandIf there were only water amongst the rockDead mountain mouth of carious teeth that

cannot spitHere one can neither stand nor lie nor sitThere is not even silence in the mountainsBut dry sterile thunder without rainThere is not even solitude in the mountainsBut red sullen faces sneer and snarlFrom doors of mudcracked houses

If there were waterAnd no rockIf there were rockAnd also waterAnd waterA springA pool among the rock

29


If there were the sound of water onlyNot the cicadaAnd dry grass singingBut sound of water over a rockWhere the hermit-thrush sings in the pine

trees41Drip drop drip drop drop drop dropBut there is no water

Who is the third who walks always besideyou?42

When I count, there are only you and Itogether

But when I look ahead up the white road

41This is Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii, the hermit-thrush which Ihave heard in Quebec County. Chapman says (Handbook of Birdsof Eastern North America) "it is most at home in secluded wood-land and thickety retreats... Its notes are not remarkable for varietyor volume, but in purity and sweetness of tone and exquisite mod-ulation they are unequalled." Its "water-dripping song" is justlycelebrated.

42The following lines were stimulated by the account of one ofthe Antarctic expeditions (I forget which, but I think one of Shack-leton’s): it was related that the party of explorers, at the extremityof their strength, had the constant delusion that there was one moremember than could actually be counted.

30


There is always another one walking besideyou

Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hoodedI do not know whether a man or a woman–But who is that on the other side of you?43

What is that sound high in the airMurmur of maternal lamentationWho are those hooded hordes swarmingOver endless plains, stumbling in cracked

earthRinged by the flat horizon onlyWhat is the city over the mountainsCracks and reforms and bursts in the violet

airFalling towersJerusalem Athens AlexandriaVienna London

43Cf. Hermann Hesse, Blick ins Chaos:"Schon ist halb Europa, schon ist zumindest der halbe Osten Eu-

ropas auf dem Wege zum Chaos, fährt betrunken im heiligem Wahnam Abgrund entlang und singt dazu, singt betrunken und hymnischwie Dmitri Karamasoff sang.

Über diese Lieder lacht der Bürger beleidigt, der Heilige und Se-her hört sie mit Tränen."

31


Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tightAnd fiddled whisper music on those stringsAnd bats with baby faces in the violet lightWhistled, and beat their wingsAnd crawled head downward down a

blackened wallAnd upside down in air were towersTolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hoursAnd voices singing out of empty cisterns

and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountainsIn the faint moonlight, the grass is singingOver the tumbled graves, about the chapelThere is the empty chapel, only the wind’s

home.It has no windows, and the door swings,Dry bones can harm no one.Only a cock stood on the rooftreeCo co rico co co ricoIn a flash of lightning. Then a damp gustBringing rain

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves

32


Waited for rain, while the black cloudsGathered far distant, over Himavant.The jungle crouched, humped in silence.Then spoke the thunderDADatta: what have we given?My friend, blood shaking my heart44The awful daring of a moment’s surrenderWhich an age of prudence can never retractBy this, and this only, we have existedWhich is not to be found in our obituariesOr in memories draped by the beneficent

spider45Or under seals broken by the lean solicitorIn our empty roomsDA

44"Datta, dayadhvam, damyata" (Give, sympathize, control). Thefable of the meaning of the Thunder is found in the Brihadaranyaka-Upanishad, 5, 1. A translation is found in Deussen’s Sechzig Up-anishads des Veda, p. 489.

45Cf. Webster, The White Devil, v. vi:Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spiderMake a thin curtain for your epitaphs."

33


Dayadhvam: I have heard the key46

Turn in the door once and turn once onlyWe think of the key, each in his prisonThinking of the key, each confirms a prisonOnly at nightfall, aetherial rumoursRevive for a moment a broken CoriolanusDADamyata: The boat respondedGaily, to the hand expert with sail and oarThe sea was calm, your heart would have

respondedGaily, when invited, beating obedientTo controlling hands

I sat upon the shore

46Cf. Inferno, xxxiii. 46:"ed io sentii chiavar l’uscio di sottoall’orribile torre."Also F. H. Bradley, Appearance and Reality, p. 346:"My external sensations are no less private to myself than are my

thoughts or my feelings. In either case my experience falls withinmy own circle, a circle closed on the outside; and, with all its ele-ments alike, every sphere is opaque to the others which surround it.. . . In brief, regarded as an existence which appears in a soul, thewhole world for each is peculiar and private to that soul."

34


Fishing, with the arid plain behind me47Shall I at least set my lands in order?London Bridge is falling down falling down

falling downPoi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina48Quando fiam ceu chelidon– O swallow

swallow49

Le Prince d’Aquitaine a la tour abolie50These fragments I have shored against my

ruinsWhy then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad

againe.51Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih shantih shantih52

47V. Weston, From Ritual to Romance; chapter on the Fisher King.48V. Purgatorio, xxvi. 148."’Ara vos prec per aquella valor’que vos guida al som de l’escalina,sovegna vos a temps de ma dolor.’Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina."49V. Pervigilium Veneris. Cf. Philomela in Parts II and III.50V. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet El Desdichado.51V. Kyd’s Spanish Tragedy.52Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad.’The Peace which passeth understanding’ is a feeble translation

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of the content of this word.

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